Fairy Tale
by LenaLiar
Summary: Draco Malfoy learned at a young age that fairy tales didn't usually end with a happily ever after. In fact, most of them weren't even happy or sweet. They were dark, painful, and sad.


Draco Malfoy learned at a young age that fairy tales didn't usually end with a happily ever after. In fact, most of them weren't even happy or sweet. They were dark, painful, and sad. Growing up he was thought of as his parents' little prince. With his regal features, light blond hair, and startling blue eyes, he fit the picture to perfection. And like a prince, he was given everything he wanted. Everyone made sure to tell him that he was a miracle baby, born straight out of the magic of a fairy tale, their impossible prince.

Lucius and Narcissa were not intended to marry. The Lestranges had pegged him for their eldest daughter Bellatrix, but Lucius had fallen in love with Narcissa at first sight, and had fought tooth and nail for their love. Many would not have been so daring as to go against their families' wishes for something as mundane as love, but he did, and the two were finally wed. When, months later, they discovered that Narcissa was nearly barren, and it would be almost impossible for her to bear a child, Lucius still fought on. Even though their union threatened the continuation of the revered Malfoy bloodline, he refused to leave her for another, and soon enough their love blossomed into the beautiful Prince. But the pregnancy was hard on Narcissa's health, and she went into labor early. The midwitch did not believe that their young son would make it, and prepared the young couple for the worst. No one expected for the baby to be born not only strong, and healthy, but in a halo of white magic; his first display. His family cold not have been more proud, and named him Draco, a strong magical name. Even if he was always on the smaller, daintier side, no one bothered to point it out, after all he was powerful, and beautiful. He did not need height or girth to be respected. Everyone expected great things from him, expected his fairy tale to be the grandest yet.

Draco still remembers the first time his tale had been tainted, darkened with blood and sadness.  
He was almost 5, and didn't want to go to bed. His birthday was the next day and he was far too excited for something like sleep. His mother tried her best, singing him ballad after ballad in her golden, sweet voice. Spinning the tails of princes and dragons and knights and love that always caused Draco's chest to swell with emotions and his eyelids to fall heavy with sleep. Eventually his mother had left him, claiming that he must sleep with a soft kiss to his cheek and an affectionate caress of his hair. After some time tossing and turning he decided to seek her back out, to ask for just one more tale spun from her sweet lips.

He crept thought the dark house, feeling like one of the princes in his stories, trying to find the fair maiden in the dark tower and whisk her off to safety and a happily ever after. He heard his parents voices and followed the noise, not sure what to do when they rose in volume, yelling at one another. They were in the front hall, his mother screaming in the middle while his father stood at the stoop of the stairs, a strange woman with bright red hair, far too much makeup, and an ugly sneer plastered onto his arm. He hid in confusion, as his parents never once raised their voices. But as he watched they only got louder, until his father eventually strode across the room and slapped his mother with enough force to knock her to the ground, before casting a spell which caused her to scream and wither. Draco felt his eyes swell with tears and watched as his father strode up the stairs with the strange woman and left his mother crumpled, sobbing in the pool of her pink dress, and rocking back and forth. Draco wanted to comfort her, like one of his princes so often did. But when he slipped from his spot behind a pillar and wrapped her in his arms, she only cried harder.

Years later he found out more about his fairy tale, and each day it seemed to crack more around him as he saw the darkness woven between each part. The biggest blow had been when he discovered that he wasn't the first Malfoy child. There had been another, a baby with dark hair that never truly formed. His father had gotten his mother pregnant, and was going to leave her alone with the bastard child. But his aunt Bellatrix found out, and made him pursue his mother instead, had threatened to tell both their families of his disloyalty. So the two were married under Bellatix's pressure. All seemed fine until one night when Lucius got angry. Angry that he was married to the delicate, frail, weak Narcissa, and not her strong sister. Angry that his children would be just as weak as their mother. In his fit of rage, he beat her, and she lost the child. The miscarriage was brutal, and damaged her womb. She was told that the damage was permanent, that she could never again have a child. But Narcissa refused to listen, didn't want to be cast aside as a shrew unable to even give children. So she went to a powerful Lord, one who was tainted by dark magic and a lust for power. She dedicated herself to him, promised that the baby he granted would do the same. In exchange he made her a potion, a potion of blood and pain. A potion made from the heart, and lungs, and skin of what should have been his brother. Draco was never supposed to find out about the dark potion that helped him be conceived. But he did, had to stand still and listen as his drunken father screamed about how Narcissa drank her dead child, while his mother sobbed and pleaded for him to stop.

Draco made sure to learn the truth behind all the fairy tales he had ever heard, learned of the betrayal, the suffering, the pain, and the darkness. So when he heard the tale of another little boy, a knight who bested death itself and had the power to destroy the very darkness that created Draco from the ashes of despair and desperation, he was intrigued, obsessed even. When he finally got to meet the other boy, he offered his hand in friendship, wanted to know how the others fairy tale was tainted. But he was snubbed, ridiculed even, and forced to watch from the side as the other boy's fairy tale played out true and bright as he defeated the monster, got the girl, and became the daring knight who saved them all from evil. And all the while Draco's own tale got darker, choking him with its presence, forcing him to hurt others so he could repay the life-debt that gave him existence. And when it was finally over, all he had left was handfuls of ash that was once his white light, shining so brightly.

He closed his eyes with a soft sigh and wondered if his tale really even mattered anymore. He would never amount to any sort of greatness, his time with the dark lord had quickly assured him of that, and he highly doubted many would remember the tale of the Malfoy family in years to come. They would most likely be portrayed as minor minions, misguided by the allure of dark power. He snorted slightly, deciding that it mostly served them right, and dug a muggle cigarette from his pocket. Draco had embraced the habit after the war, when the dark lord was finally dead, and his father imprisoned for life. Neither he nor his mother wanted to stay in the mansion, so they simply left; touring the muggle countrysides of Europe, where they weren't likely to be recognized, and didn't have to explain why they couldn't use magic. He ended up spending most of his time alone, or around the staff, not wanting to play nice with the rich muggles like his mother. A few waiters on break had offered him his first cigarette, and now he found it to be a fitting habit, after all his life had turned into nothing but poison and ash already, what harm could a little more do? Besides, it calmed him in times when he was expected to pretend that everything was alright, that he was happy and full of gratitude. Like when he was allowed to keep his wand, or allowed back into Hogwarts, or allowed to attend tonights festivities. Everyone expected him to be grateful that he was allowed the same privileges as eleven year old children. And it stopped his fingers from shaking when he remembered his story, or saw the darkness lurking in the corners. With a slight snort he stood from his chair and started for the nearest balcony. There were not many older death eater children left after the war, the few that remained didn't even glance at him as he left the table. With a bitter smirk he realized that they where more then likely glad that he was gone. They would never outright outcast him, but they where weary of him, of the reputation and hatred that followed him. Once they would have done anything to be him.

He leaned his body against the railing and looked down. The hall was a few stories up, and not for the first time he wondered what it would be like to fall. With a shiver he light his cigarette and inhaled. He of course knew what it was like to fly, or to dive. But he had never fallen, and imagined it would be quite different. When you flew, you where still in control. Even in a dive, you knew how a broom worked, and knew that your fate was always in your hands. But falling, falling was chaos. When you fell there was no broom to save you, just the wind and gravity, and the promise of earth, and blood, and pain. But there was also the promise of peace. His heart hammered in his chest as he slowly slipped out of his robe and tie, letting them slip over the railing and watching as they slowly sailed into the dark.

Every story needed and ending, after the taint and anguish and sin became to much. He didn't think his could end in a better way, then falling. After all, everything in his life had been controlled, every movement, every thought. It would be fitting, for him to end in chaos.

His hands began to shake, and he stepped away from the railing until his back hit the castle wall. He took a clumsy drag and held the smoke in his lungs, causing his chest to burn and his head to clear. He repeated the effect until his eyes struggled to stay open, and his heart beat echoed in his ears, debating if it was time for his tragedy to end.

* * *

"I feel like we're in a fairy tale," Ginny giggled, twirling in her bright, white dress.

"I do too," Hermione smiled, dropping the skirts of her own gown and stepping into Ron's waiting arms. Harry forced a smile, trying not to think about all the dark stories he had read as a child, his cousin screaming at him, mockingly asking if Harry fancied himself in some sort of fairy tale as he ripped the pages out of his book, and pounded his skull into the ground.

He was never very fond of them, as he could only get his hands on the old storybooks that no one else wanted at the back of the library. Ones filled with tragedy and spun with cotton-candy lies to make them seem appealing. Even as a child he could see through fluffy words, and into the pure sadness of the story. He thought of his parents, of Cedric, of Sirius, Remus, Tonks, of all the death and pain from the final battle. Fairy tale indeed.

"I need some air," he stated, loosening his tie and marching off towards one of the patios, purposely ignoring his friends' confused gazes. They were celebrating a full year without Voldemort, an entire school year where the only things students had to worry about were exams and rebuilding. It all still seemed so surreal to him.

He took a deep breath of the night air and tried not the think about the full moon in the sky. Instead he wondered what kind of tale his story would turn into, how much sugar they would have to coat the darkness with to make it full of light and love, glory and triumph. The thought made him feel sick.  
"You're going to catch a cold, Potter."

Harry jumped, turning towards a figure leaning against the dark castle wall, unnoticed in his musings. He moved his hand away from his wand, not wanting to frighten the other boy off. Not that Malfoy looked at all scared, quite the opposite actually. He was lounging back, outer robes and tie nowhere to be found. His hair was tousled by the wind, longer then Harry had ever seen, and left to hang wild and unkempt. He had a cigarette dangling loosely from his lips, the soft ember tip glowing brightly. He looked like a dark prince right out of the stories, sent to tempt the princess of light.

"You know those things are poisonous right?" Harry asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets and leaning against the railing. Draco smirked. He'd always had a talent for that. "Good," he replied, blowing out a thick puff of smoke without a single care. Harry shivered.

"I- um, wanted to thank you- well, your mom for saving me... back in the forest. I wouldn't have made it, if it wasn't for her." Harry stumbled over the words, wanting Draco to know that he was sincere, even if it took him a while to say it. Draco just nodded and stared up at the sky. Harry shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, wondering if Draco would say anything, if he would take the words as the peace offering they were meant to be.

"She had a beautiful voice you know," Draco murmured finally, taking another drag off his cigarette. "Golden and full of warmth. She would sing me to sleep ever night with old ballads full of princes and love." Harry scowled, confused. The Narcissa Malfoy he remembered had a voice that was far from beautiful, it was hoarse, scratchy, small. Nowhere near silver, let alone golden.

"What happened?" He asked finally, licking his lips. Draco looked right at him, face devoid of emotion.  
"My father got tired of her singing, filling my head with 'bullshit about love.' So he tried to take it away. Choked her until her eyes went blank and face turned blue. She hasn't sung since." Draco shrugged like it didn't really matter, while Harry felt his heart reach out to him.  
"I hate fairy tales," he blurted, not quite sure why he suddenly felt the need to share this. Draco gave him a hard stare, his face full of surprise and expectation and meaning. Harry swallowed, his throat feeling thick and dry. "Everyone thinks my life is some enchanted fairy tale, and it's not. I don't want it to be. Fairy tales are dark, and tainted, full of lies and death." He felt his lips tremble as he slumped to the ground, pulling at his hair. Draco sat down beside him, and offered up his cigarette. Harry grasped it with a shaky hand and tried not to cough as he inhaled.

"My life's a fairy tale," Draco said bitterly, taking the cigarette from Harry's numb fingers and sucking a long drag before handing it back. "But it's a nice and proper one. Starting with death and anger and just getting darker and darker while everyone tells it with sweet words and pretends it's full of love." Harry took another drag, not caring about he poison slowly entering his lungs. "And I'm the dark prince stuck in the middle of it all." Draco finished, giving a slightly pained smile. Harry's mouth was moving faster then he could control, causing his words to flow past without thought or consequences.

"Tell it to me."

He cautiously rested his head on the blonde boy's shoulder and stared up at the stars. Draco sucked in a deep, shuddering breath and began the story of a new prince, created by the death and blood of others, yet born in a light of pure white. Told of the screaming, the anger, and the pain. Of a young prince snubbed on a train and left to fend for himself until his light dwindled into nothing, and he became just as dark and tainted as his conception foretold. Harry listened intently, letting every word pour into him and allowing himself to see the man behind the Malfoy mask.

Once Draco finished, Harry told his own tale, about a young knight beloved by his parents and hunted by a monster. About the knights mother, who sacrificed herself so he could live, and how the rest of the world celebrated her sacrifice while the knight grew up unloved, unwanted, and abused. How he was beaten and starved for the very gifts the rest of the world honored, until a giant saved him, and brought him to a magical castle where he made his first friends and learned all about magic. He told how the boy thought everything would be better, how he never expected people to love or hate him simply because of his name, and he didn't know what to do when monsters began to stalk him, trying to kill him, angry because he existed. And he told about how those who were supposed to protect him used him as a weapon, or died for him, because he chose to love them, because he was always designed to be the sacrifice. He explained how the knight died, but choose to come back, because he wanted to try one more time, try and live without that darkness lurking behind him, and how a woman with a voice that rasped with darkness choose to save him, because her heart yearned for the light. And how every day the knight regretted coming back, because while those around him proclaimed him a hero, he knew he was nothing but an omen of death, and that the world no longer needed him. His voice broke with the last words, not realizing how true they where until he spoke them.

They both stared silently at the stars as his story ended; neither could tell what to say after having heard their souls poured out before them.

"I've always wanted to know what drove you through your life. What tainted your story." Draco whispered, afraid to break the fragile webs that had been woven between them. He flicked his cigarette stub to the ground, and Harry smiled.

"Most people refuse to believe theres any taint," he said softly, bright green eyes locking with startling blue ones.

"Most people are idiots," Draco countered, standing up and offering Harry his hand. With a slight smile the knight took his prince's hand and allowed himself to be lifted to his feet and led off the patio. And if a small ray of pure white light decided to wrap itself around their laced fingers, neither seemed to notice.


End file.
